Goddess of the Rose (Goddess Summoning #4)(23)

At least she was having an expensive delusion.

Actually, expensive didn't begin to describe the room. It was more like obscenely RICH. Definitely spelled with capital letters.

The stuff of fairy tales, her mind prodded.

Mikki ignored her mind, which had already proven totally untrustworthy, and looked around. She knew the room. Her fantastic dreams always began in this very room, but the images her sleeping mind had retained had been fleeting. Typically, when Mikki awoke she could only remember that she had been in "the room" again and that the room had given her a sense of comfort, setting a pleasurable stage for the rest of her dream experiences.

What was it the brunette had said? You are home, Priestess!

Impossible. Home was a nice little apartment in a great location, not a room fit for a princess. Mikki's admiring gaze took in her surroundings. Princess, hell, the room had been made for a goddess. The light from the wall of windows was dim, but three huge crystal chandeliers hung suspended from the ceiling on golden chains. Their many candles mixed with the freestanding candelabrum that perfectly accented the corners of the room, as well as the enormous fireplace in which a fire crackled and popped cheerily - the entire effect was to cast the chamber in the warm glow of living flame. The gold and scarlet color scheme of the bed linens was reflected in the rest of the room. The carpet was plush, incredibly soft, and the color of untouched snow. The marbled walls were the color of clouds streaked through with delicate veins of gold and hung with ornate tapestries. Their intricate designs were all - Mikki grinned in pleased surprise - roses! Each tapestry was a woven marvel. Not able to stop herself, Mikki drifted over to the closest of the works of art and sucked in a sudden breath.

The tapestry rose was the Mikado.

Her eyes went from wall to wall. Each hanging was filled with artistic renditions of roses so real Mikki almost expected to be able to smell their delicate bouquet. And each and every one of them was of the Mikado Rose.

"Consistency should count for something, even if it's delusional," she said firmly.

Intrigued by what her mind was concocting, Mikki explored the room. Beautifully carved wardrobes rested elegantly between wall hangings, and a huge mirrored vanity was placed not far from the canopied bed. It seemed to be waiting for a fairy princess or goddess to sit before it and primp. The tinkling light of the closest chandelier caught Mikki's eye, and she looked up. The walls stretched to an incredible height. Mikki had to tilt her head back to see the domed ceiling far above, which was painted with delicate frescos of blood-and-gold-colored Mikado Roses.

Incredulous, Mikki muttered, "Where the hell am I?" How could her mind have fabricated such an amazing "reality"? Maybe I didn't fabricate this . . . maybe this is real and my old, boring, uneventful life was the dream. The thought, more elusive than smoke, drifted through her be-dazzled mind.

Trying not to feel like an interloper, she stood, wiggling her bare toes into the lush carpet.

Bare toes?

She looked down at herself. She was wearing a long, white robe that V-ed deeply to expose a generous amount of cle**age. The sleeves were trimmed in lace that circled her wrists. The entire garment was embroidered with tiny scarlet roses. Mikki rubbed a finger against the material; she had never felt anything like it. It wasn't exactly silk, but it was too soft and slick to be cotton. Expensive linen? Whatever it was, it was certainly flattering. It flowed in a diaphanous wave down her body, showing just enough flesh to be seductive without being sluttish. Mikki swung one long leg out in front of her, loving the richness of the fabric against her naked skin.

"Naked?" She froze. Then, holding the top of the dress away from her chest, she peered down at her body. "Very naked," she whispered, feeling her cheeks warm.

How had she gotten that way? Or more to the point, who had gotten her that way? Probably the little handmaidens, she told herself (please, oh please, her mind shying away from the memory of the beast that had so doggedly pursued her). Even though they were strangers, they were definitely female. Having talked herself into feeling relieved, she let one hand absently caress her sleeve. The tangible touch of the fabric soothed her frayed nerves. She lifted her hand to look more closely at the filigreed lace, and she noticed the pad of her hand was scabbed over but still sore when she pressed on it.

She clearly remembered cutting them when the perfume bottle had broken last night. Mikki pressed the healing scabs again and winced. The cuts were real. She breathed deeply and, sure enough, the scent of the exotic perfume she'd dabbed on her pulse points, as well as smeared all over her hand, wafted distinctly to her nose. Surely a hallucination couldn't include so many of her senses. Could it?

Mikki sighed and walked to the wall of windows. As she got closer to them, she realized that the middle panes had marble handles and opened outward to an enormous balcony. She pressed her face close to the glass, trying to see through the fading light. All she could make out was the distant outline of the balustraded balcony. Beyond that, she could only see vague, dark shapes. And then the glass fogged over with her breath.

"Don't be such a sissy," she told her reflection. Ignoring the fluttering of her heart, she turned the handle and stepped out into the cool evening.

The balcony seemed to stretch on forever. It was a smooth pane of pearl-colored marble that curved gracefully in an elliptical shape. On either side of her it wrapped out of sight around that section of the . . .